


Down and Out

by litlebritain



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-05-09 21:08:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5555417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/litlebritain/pseuds/litlebritain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One of these days, Morse getting ill and DeBryn/Thursday coming to the rescue is going to get old. Until then ...</p><p>AKA Morse gets run down on a case and this time it's serious.</p><p>(For some reason the site listed it as containing adult content, but it doesn't. Just a simple hurt comfort)</p><p>I dont really know when this is set, I feel like maybe in the middle of series 2 when Morse is still quite shy and naive. </p><p>Apologies if the ending is a bit weak :-(</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The end of a long and grueling hunt for Oxford’s latest serial killer. Thanks to Morse, they had found the killer standing knife in hand over his latest victim, albeit slightly too late to save the poor lady that had been targeted. Morse was used to running himself ragged in the line of duty, but at 5.30 am, without having slept for 36 hours, even he had to admit this case was catching up with him. For the past 12 hours he had been having intermittent stomach ache and dizzy flashes, with a growing feeling of nausea. The eternal hero, he had kept quiet as always to see the case through, throwing himself into the dramatic showdown with a martial arts crazed psychopath. He stood now in a silence, pondering the trail of evidence and wondering if he could have done anything to solve the case quicker, thus sparing an innocent life.

“Stop. There’s nothing more you or anyone could have done. Thanks to you we’ve got the nutter behind bars and he’ll never see the light of day again. Keep on and you’ll drive yourself round the twist,” Thursday said, laying a comforting hand on Morse’s shoulder. Even he was starting to feel concerned at the pale and pasty appearance of his enigmatic bagman.

“M’ fine Sir,” Morse protested, using Thursday to keep him out of DeBryn's line of sight. The last thing he needed was for the Doctor to start making a fuss over him, especially in front of Bright and Jakes.

“Right well you just take yourself home for a few hours’ kip, I’ll square it with Bright. Can’t have you dead on your feet, can I? I’ll get a uniform to drop you home, and you can come back around midday for the paperwork.”

“Thanks Sir.”

Morse shuffled off towards the car Thursday had pointed him to. Suddenly, he felt a sharp pain stab along his abdomen and he instinctively doubled over, cradling an arm into his stomach with a hiss of pain. As the cramp eased off, he straightened up again, glad everyone around him was too busy to notice. Out of the corner of his eye , however, he saw DeBryn look over towards him, so he hurried off into the car to escape the penetrating stare of the astute pathologist.

The uniform assigned to drive Morse home was a WPC Briggs, a newer recruit that Morse had never met. As they drove back to his flat, Morse could feel the gaze of the constable flickering from the road to his face with increasing frequency. Finally, when Morse could stand it no longer, he snapped at the young woman (“Just keep your eyes on the road will you?”) and closed his eyes, rubbing his temples. The truth was that he was feeling increasingly unwell, and with every jolt and bump of the road he had to swallow to keep from throwing up. He was starting to feel hot and flushed and the pains in his stomach were intensifying into a constant burn.

When they arrived at his flat, Briggs offered to see him in but he pushed her away. The last thing he needed was the humiliation of vomiting on someone’s shoes. As he climbed  the stairs to his flat, he could hear a faint ringing in his ears and he was pulling himself along with the bannister, using it to keep him upright. The urge to throw up was much stronger now and felt along the wall to his door, fumbling with the key in the lock. After a few tries, he managed to let himself in but he didn’t make it to the sink before bringing up the vomit he had been fighting to keep at bay. He felt one last stab of excruciating pain then stumbled and pitched forwards into darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

Thursday looked up in surprise as Dr DeBryn came barreling into his office without bothering to knock. Normally the pathologist was meticulous about upholding social niceties but just now his usually calm and methodical persona had been replaced by one that was indomitably sharp and fiery.

“Where’s Morse?” He demanded curtly, before Thursday had even opened his mouth.

“I sent him home to have a doze. Whats wrong?” Thursday replied sharply, irritated by the rudeness of the Doctor.

“A medical emergency. I think he’s seriously ill, I need you to take me to his flat immediately.”

“He’s just over tired, needs a snooze and full stomach."

At this point they were interrupted by a knock on the office door and DeBryn swore under his breath. Thursday called for the visitor to enter and the door opened to reveal Briggs shuffling her feet nervously.

“Now’s  not a good time Constable,” DeBryn snapped, turning his back to her and rubbing his temples.

“Sorry to interrupt Sir, I can come back later,” Briggs mumbled and turned to leave.

“What is it Briggs?” Thursday enquired, ignoring the agitated pathologist.

“Well Sir, it’s about Detective Constable Morse. He seemed very Ill when I left him at his flat but he wouldn’t let me help him. PC Strange said I should come and tell you, Sir.”

DeBryn’s head snapped round at this, and as Thursday stood up a moment of grim understanding passed between the two men.

“Thanks Constable, I’ll take it from here,” Thursday reassured the young woman, trying to put across a sense of calm that he didn’t quite feel himself. As he pulled on his overcoat, he rummaged around in his drawer for the key he had hoped he would never need to use. The spare key that Morse had given him “in case I fall in the shower.” Thursday and DeBryn rushed through the CID office and out to the car park, ignoring surprised glances from Jakes and a scowl from Bright who tried to call after them. Thursday slammed the Jaguar into gear and raced along the streets, forcing a few cars onto the kerb and running a red light. 

“How did you know?” Thursday asked shortly.

“Firstly, he looked far too pale and he was doubling up with stomach pains. Secondly, he was going out of his way to avoid me. That’s always a sure fire indication that something is wrong. I tried to catch him before he left, then I came to the station as soon as I could.”

Thursday snorted and slammed on the brakes outside Morse’s flat, which they had reached in half the time it normally took. They raced up the stairs to his door and Thursday pulled out the key but he didn’t need it because the door was ajar. They burst through it to find Morse unconscious on the floor, curled into a ball with his arms wrapped round his stomach. His face was flushed and his hair was pasted to his forehead with sweat. Thursday felt his brow and was shocked at how hot he was.

“He’s burning up Doctor,” Thursday stated. He pulled a towel off a radiator and laid it under the young man’s head, using a corner of it to wipe the vomit from around his chin. DeBryn gently pulled Morse out of his ball, and he began to stir with a groan. As DeBryn began to firmly palpitate his stomach, he howled and retched, throwing up again onto the towel.

“Appendicitis?” Thursday asked, rubbing Morse’s back and wiping his mouth again. “I saw it a few times in Africa.”

“Afraid so. I just hope it hasn’t burst, because if it has we’re in real trouble,” the doctor replied grimly.

“Ambulance?”

“We don’t have time to wait, we need to take him in the car. I’ll phone the hospital and let them know we’re coming.”

Together the two men managed to carry Morse out to the car, laying him gently on the back seat. DeBryn sat with him in the back while Thursday powered through the traffic, glad that this particular Jaguar had at least been fitted with  a Siren. At the entrance to accident and emergency there was a team of doctors  and nurses waiting and they immediately flurried round the car. With DeBryn's help they lifted Morse from the back seat and onto a stretcher, whisking him away down the corridor without a backwards glance. Thursday parked the car then made a call to the station to let Bright know what had happened. To give him credit, the Chief Super did sound extremely worried, telling Thursday to stay with Morse at the hospital and promising to have Jakes and McNutt finish the paperwork. This left Thursday with nothing to do but sit and look at the paint washed walls and wait for news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I pinched the bit about flat keys from Encore by athena_crikey in an attempt to make it fanfic cannon. Absolutely no copyright infringement or offence intended.


	3. Chapter 3

Half an hour later DeBryn came walking along the corridor and Thursday stood up to meet him.

“How is he?” Thursday asked.

“The appendix hasn’t ruptured yet, so the surgery should go to plan. They’ve given him antibiotics and are prepping him for theatre.  He should be fine. The surgeon has given me permission to observe so I need to go and scrub up,” the doctor stated in his usual forthright manner.

As DeBryn turned and walked back down the corridor, Thursday sighed with relief and sat back down on his chair. Trust Morse to let himself get into such a mess instead of getting it seen to. Admittedly, if Morse had seen a doctor earlier the murderer would still be on the loose but the fact that Morse was the most likely to crack the case didn’t mean he had to take all the responsibility on himself. Thursday had long since come to accept that in Morse’s eyes work came first and his own health and wellbeing came second, that was just part of who Morse was. He just fervently hoped that the young man wouldn’t work himself into an early grave.

* * *

 

 Thursday sat trying not to watch the clock, where every tick of the second hand felt like an hour. Did operations usually take so long? As an Inspector it took a lot to break through his nerves of steel, but there was something about Morse that had gone straight to Thursday’s heart from very early on. Looking back, Thursday could pinpoint it – the moment the young man had passed out into his arms. As Thursday had laid him out on the floor he had felt his affection flare, his fatherly protection coming to the fore. Since that day he had been determined to shield the young man, provide the nurturing he had so clearly been lacking. It was just a pity that Morse seemed determined to oppose his efforts at every turn. 

He had seen plenty of comrades succumb to bowel wounds on the battlefields, and even more who got medical attention but didn’t make it through the operation. That was over twenty years ago however, with rustic battlefield hospitals and little or no antibiotics. Modern medicine had advanced since then. Luckily appendicitis was never a condition that his wife or children had suffered from so he would just have to trust DeBryn’s assurances that it would go well, hope no complications arose.

Around two hours later a nurse popped her head round the waiting room door and took Thursday to see his young protégé. Morse had been placed in a side ward that was filled with the gentle beeping of his heart monitor, the familiar hospital pastel green and the ever present smell of disinfectant. DeBryn was standing over Morse’s unconscious form and looked around as the Inspector entered the room.

“How did it go?” Thursday asked, hovering by the door.

“Perfectly. Absolutely textbook. Although he and I are going to be having words when he’s well enough to pay attention. The appendix was moments away from rupturing and causing all sorts of serious problems,” DeBryn explained.

“We got to him on time, that’s the main thing,” DeBryn added, seeing the look on the Inspectors face. “I need to go and finish my post-mortem but I’ll come and sit with him after that so you can get back to the station.”

As DeBryn left the room, Thursday settled himself down on a chair next to his inert bagman. His face was grey and pinched, eyes dark and sunken and Thursday knew it stemmed from weeks of sleep deprivation and malnutrition as well as the illness.

There was a quiet groan as Morse began to stir, and as his eyes flickered open they search around the room before finding Thursday.

“Sir? Wha…where am I?” Morse asks groggily.

“You’re in a bed in the Radcliffe,”

Morse just looked at him, bewildered.

“You ran yourself down into the ground on the case and got appendicitis. We found you collapsed in your flat. Gave us all a right good scare,” Thursday explained with mock severity.

“Sorry.”

“Hmm. You’d best watch because DeBryn is on the war path, he’s going to give you a good talking to,” Thursday warned with a chuckle. “He’s waiting until you come round properly though, so if I were you I’d have another doze.”

Morse took Thursday’s advice and closed his eyes. Within minutes he had succumbed to the lingering effects of the sedatives and was gently snoring into his oxygen mask.

DeBryn returned as promised and, satisfied that Morse would indeed make a full recovery, Thursday stood up to leave.

“Inspector?” DeBryn called.

Thursday stopped in the doorway and turned back to the now relaxed pathologist with an enquiring expression.

“Apologies if I was somewhat … curt in my manner earlier. I just had a feeling that something was wrong.”

Thursday nodded his understanding.

“Is there any chance you could please apologise on my behalf to the WPC?”

“Of course. Doctor.” Thursday tipped his hat then left.

* * *

 

When Morse came round again, his head felt a lot clearer with the sedation having worn off. The sharp pain in his abdomen had been replaced by a dull ache and the nausea and dizziness were all but gone.

True to Thursday’s words, DeBryn was sitting in the bedside chair with an air of rigidity and a severe expression. Knowing what was coming, Morse gulped.

“I’ve told you before Morse, I don’t want to see you laid out on my slab,” DeBryn said brusquely.

Morse didn’t have any reply to this so he just let the uncomfortable silence sit.

“You could have died. You _would_ have died if we hadn’t got to you when we did. I don’t suppose you stopped to think about that at any point?”

Morse started to panic, panting for breath. His heart rate had increased and alerted by the frequency of the beeping, a doctor came round the door to check.

“If you keep agitating my patient I’m afraid I will have to ask you to leave,” the Doctor told DeBryn sharply.

“No, please don’t go,” Morse croaked, reaching out to try and grab DeBryn’s arm.

“Well I need you to try and relax. I can bring you another sedative if you want?” the doctor asked.

Morse shook his head and concentrated on taking the deep breaths that the doctor was counting out for him. His heart rate and breathing slowly returned to normal and the doctor left again.

The expression on DeBryn’s face had softened and he fluffed up Morse’s pillows and helped him drink some water. He placed a comforting hand on Morse’s arm before speaking in a gentler, soothing tone:

“I’m sorry I upset you, you just need to take more care of yourself. I watched the surgery, and you were extremely close to being very unwell, we’re lucky we caught it when we did. Even if you had just come and told me when you started feeling ill instead of trying to hide, I would have kept your confidence.”

“He’d still be on the loose though. The murderer I mean,” Morse murmured.

DeBryn let out a long and heavy sigh, “You are your own worst enemy Morse, you know that? I would make you promise to tell me when you’re ill but I know you won’t. I feel it’s my duty to let you know that I’ll be keeping a close eye on you,” DeBryn said, half teasing half serious.

“What happens now?” Morse asked

“Well you’ll need bed rest; they’ll probably keep you in for about a week. After that, I think Inspector Thursday is planning on taking you back to his house to recuperate for a few weeks. You should be ok to go back to work after that as long as you take it easy for a while.”

DeBryn stayed for the rest of the afternoon and Morse was glad of his friends company. Over the next few days, Thursday popped in and out and had his own talk with the young man about the importance of his health. Mrs Thursday was an angel, bringing in soup and sandwiches each day, insisting he needed homemade food to get his strength back up. He was allowed home early and was indeed taken to the Thursday household. His abdomen was still quite tender and he held himself gingerly but all too soon he was allowed to return to work. The first thing he did was track down WPC Briggs and apologise awkwardly for his rudeness, thanking her for her concern. Bright was happy to see Morse back on his feet and even Jakes condescended to ask him how he was.

DC Morse would live to fight another day.


End file.
